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Rejecting the Unfaithful Alpha Novel Cover

Rejecting the Unfaithful Alpha

The study door felt heavier than usual as I pushed it open, my fingers trembling against the polished wood. Ethan's scent—pine and authority—filled the room, mingling with the flickering candlelight that cast long shadows across his imposing desk. My mate, my Alpha, sat like a king on his throne, barely glancing up from his papers as I entered. I knelt before him, the position once feeling natural but now scraping against my dignity like sandpaper. Through our bond, I could feel Lyra, my wolf, whimpering in distress, her anxiety mirroring my own. "Alpha," I whispered, the formal address tasting bitter on my tongue. "I need to speak with you about Luna." His pen paused mid-stroke. "What is it now, Sarah?" I pulled out the medical reports, my hands shaking so badly the papers rustled like autumn leaves. "Her condition is worsening. The pack healer says she needs the Lycan King's healers.
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Chapter 3

The moon hung low in the night sky, casting silver shadows across the old pack gate. I pressed my back against the ancient oak tree, my heartbeat thundering in my chest as I waited. Every rustle in the undergrowth made me flinch, paranoia clawing at my mind. Three days had passed since Luna's tiny body had gone cold in my arms, and the pack house had become a prison of whispers and averted gazes.

A familiar scent—sage and rainwater—drifted through the air moments before Michelle's lean figure materialized from the darkness. Her eyes, sharp and alert, scanned our surroundings before she approached.

'Sarah,' she whispered, not daring to speak aloud. Her voice slipped into my mind through our private link, a connection we'd forged years ago during joint training exercises. 'I came as soon as I could.'

I swallowed hard, throat tight with unshed tears. 'Thank you for coming.'

Michelle's eyes softened with compassion, but her jaw remained set in determination. 'The rumors are true, then? About Luna?'

I nodded, unable to form the words. Within me, Lyra whimpered softly, her grief a constant ache in my chest.

'And Ethan?' Michelle's mind-voice hardened. 'Is he...'

'He refused the Lycan healers,' I confirmed, bitter acid rising in my throat. 'Said the pack couldn't afford it while he was busy with territorial negotiations.'

Michelle's lips thinned to a hard line. 'Territorial negotiations. Is that what they're calling it now?'

The question hung between us, heavy with implication.

'Victoria Sterling,' Michelle continued, her disgust palpable through our link. 'She's been seen entering his private quarters almost nightly. The Silverfang bitch has been working her way into his inner circle for months.'

Though I'd suspected as much, hearing it confirmed sent a fresh wave of pain through our fractured bond. Lyra growled, a sound of betrayal rather than aggression.

'Her influence grows stronger each day,' Michelle warned. 'She's systematically isolating him, surrounding him with her supporters. Anyone loyal to you is being reassigned or demoted.'

I closed my eyes, remembering the empty faces in the pack house, the way they'd turned from me one by one. 'I know.'

Michelle reached into her jacket, pulling out a rolled parchment sealed with wax. The paper itself seemed to hum with ancient energy—sacred parchment, blessed by the Moon Goddess herself.

'You know what this is?' she asked, her expression grave.

My fingers trembled as I took it. 'Rejection papers.'

'The formal severing of mate bonds,' Michelle confirmed. 'It's your right, Sarah. After what he's done...'

The parchment felt impossibly heavy in my hands. To reject a mate bond was no small thing—it was to tear apart what the Moon Goddess herself had joined. The pain would be excruciating for both parties, but especially for the rejected.

'The ritual must be precise,' Michelle instructed, her voice dropping lower. 'The inkscriptions must be done with a silver-tipped quill, dipped in water collected under a full moon. The seals require your blood and his name written in the old tongue.'

I listened carefully, memorizing each step. This would be my one chance to break free.

'When it's done,' Michelle continued, 'bring it to the pack alliance meeting. That's when you'll have the most witnesses.'

I nodded, tucking the parchment into my cloak. 'There's something else I need first.'

The healer's wing was quiet when we slipped inside, most pack members asleep in their quarters. The scent of medicinal herbs and disinfectant filled my nostrils as we made our way to Elara's private office.

The elderly Omega healer sat hunched over her desk, her silver hair gleaming in the candlelight. She looked up as we entered, her weathered face creasing with sorrow.

'I wondered when you'd come,' she whispered, rising slowly from her chair.

'I need the truth, Elara,' I said, my voice steadier than I felt. 'About Luna's condition.'

Elara's hands trembled as she reached for a locked drawer in her desk. 'What I'm about to show you could cost me my position... perhaps even my life.'

She extracted a thin folder, placing it before me with reverent care. 'These are the complete medical records I was ordered to suppress.'

I opened the folder, Michelle looking over my shoulder. The documents inside confirmed my worst fears—Luna's condition had been treatable. The Lycan healers could have saved her with a specialized ritual that would have awakened her dormant wolf.

'He knew,' I whispered, a cold fury replacing the grief in my heart. 'He knew and he chose...'

'He chose her,' Elara finished, her eyes filled with ancient sadness. 'And the pack resources went to covering up her indiscretions rather than saving your daughter.'

I closed the folder, tucking it beside the rejection papers. The path before me was clear now, illuminated by moonlight and righteous anger.

'Thank you, Elara,' I said, squeezing her frail hand. 'You've given me everything I need.'

As we slipped back into the night, the rejection parchment seemed to pulse against my skin, a promise of justice long overdue. Within me, Lyra stirred, no longer whimpering but watching with predatory focus.

The time for grief had passed. Now was the time for retribution.

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